We were flying fast and steady, 300 meters over the fjord, when the helicopter pilot suddenly turned downwards, and our stomachs leapt up to our throats.

Instead of blue sky, we now had ice in front of our eyes.

A wall of ice. Thirty stories of ice, of a delicate pale blue. It felt like being on a fast elevator with glass windows, with the stories passing in front of us at vertiginous speed.

Below, the dark blue sea looked frigid, and was approaching too fast for comfort. Suddenly, another left turn and then up; in a few seconds we were over an iceberg 150 meters high and a kilometer wide. That was a monster of an ice cube, broken away from the Ilulissat glacier in Greenland, the fastest-moving glacier in the northern hemisphere.

Twenty kilometres in 20 years. That’s how much the Ilulissat glacier has retreated as this mighty, flowing river of ice crumbles into the ocean. It sounds like a lot. But I did not fully realize what this meant until we flew over the Ilulissat icefjord. It takes 10 minutes for the helicopter to fly over the amount of ice that has been lost because of global warming – in this glacier alone.

A fossil fueled flight to Greenland, the vehicles to get to and from the airport, then a helicopter flight. Nothing says “I believe in anthropogenic climate change” like this hypocrisy.

At the end of the Greenland journey, we all wanted to commit to doing something. No one person alone can convince governments to price carbon, or industries to move towards cleaner practices and reduce carbon pollution. The question is: can we do something that has a measurable positive impact? In my case, as an oceanographer and explorer, I will try to help protect as much as the sea as possible from fishing and pollution, so that ocean life can be more resilient against the effects of global warming.

I leave it up to you to think about what you are willing to do.

Obviously, giving up use of fossil fuels by Warmists is verboten, even when they are “freaking out.”